Black Flagged Apex (30 page)

Greely didn't like using the libertarian favorite foreign policy word: non-intervention. Non-intervention was part of True America's philosophy, but Greely and others felt that the concept was misleading. The U.S. would be forced to intervene in order to enforce the isolation necessary for the New Recovery. The international community had become reliant upon U.S. involvement, without realizing the scope of their dependence. Lost behind a tide of resentment, foreign politicians rallied against U.S. foreign policy without giving much thought to the consequences of its absence. When the Aegis shield held over them by the U.S. was suddenly lowered, chaos would ensue, requiring intervention to keep the backlash from reaching North American shores.

Even U.S. sworn enemies in the Muslim world would panic. Without their convenient "bogeyman" to blame for the Middle East's current state of decay, the Imams would be forced to come up with new material to inflame the expanding mass of Muslim youth. They'd still blame everything on Israel, but without U.S. support, even Israel's "defiant" existence in the Holy Land would fade from relevance to many followers. Greely predicted a massive wave of violence from Muslim extremists, as they came to terms with the fact that they would soon lose their only connection to Muslims worldwide. Stand-off intervention might be required for decades to keep this threat at bay, but he downplayed those aspects of True America's core beliefs when speaking to libertarians. Their support would be crucial in the upcoming days and essential to 2008 election efforts to put the first president outside of the entrenched two-party system in the White House since Millard Fillmore was elected from the Whig Party in 1850.

Jackson wished he could have spent more time in Philadelphia. The city radiated a palpable current of political vitality that never failed to energize him. The founding fathers had spent months creating the documents that had shaped this great nation, debating and deliberating with great care. Current politicians barely bothered to read the bills they signed or voted into law. Senators and congressmen utilized entourages of poorly paid staffers or volunteers to sift through the nonsense that none of them seemed qualified to examine on their own. All of this would change. The next few weeks would catalyze the American people and give them the courage to demand a new course of action for the nation.

His cell phone rang, and he snapped it off the desk before it could ring a second time. He had expected to hear from Brown earlier. The operation in Brooklyn was of paramount importance to their organization. True America's militant arm could not be connected to the events leading to the inevitable coup. Distanced from the rational, public face of the True America movement, the political leadership would rise to lead the nation into the New Recovery. But the rise would be tenuous, and any ties to Al Qaeda, regardless of the necessity, could foment opposition to the movement at a vulnerable stage. Brown's orders had been explicit. Eradicate the last remaining link between the two organizations.

"Give me some good news, Tommy," he said.

"We have a major problem. Possibly several," Brown said.

In the decade that Greely had known Brown, he had neither seen nor heard even a trace of panic or exasperation from the man. Brown kept his emotions in check, betraying nothing, even to his closest friends. Greely detected a shift in his tone, a combination of fear and dread that immediately set off every one of Greely's internal alarms. He considered disconnecting the call until he could verify that Brown wasn't speaking to him under duress.

"What the fuck happened? This was an easy mop-up job."

"Not so easy when…one, you're expected by the FBI, and two, the entire area is covered by SWAT. The teams got inside, but the feds had people in the market as well. Two of our operatives were captured. The rest were killed in the assault."

"This is a fucking disaster!" Greely roared. "Tommy, did they at least kill the Imam?"

"Not that I can tell. My sources can't confirm this one way or the other. I rather doubt the Imam was anywhere near the market."

"What does Estrada have to say about this clusterfuck? What does he know?"

"That's the worst part. Estrada is missing…and I don't think he was taken by the FBI. His truck was found a few blocks away, crashed into a parked car. Davis was still buckled into the passenger sea—"

"They caught Davis too?" Greely interrupted.

"No. Davis was still strapped into the seat, shot through the head. Executed. Someone ambushed the car. My local PD contact said that two Arab-looking men helped the driver of the crashed SUV out of the truck and carried him down the block running. Do you think it was Al Qaeda?"

"I doubt it. Al Qaeda is out of business from what we can tell. We know they grabbed the last cell in Bayonne this morning. I don't know what to make of it."

"Maybe a cell operating outside of the Imam's network? A cell activated to shadow the operation?" Brown suggested.

"Maybe. Either way, we need to significantly accelerate our plans. If we fell victim to an FBI sting operation, then they have the Imam and he's talking. Where are you right now?"

"I'm on Interstate 79 outside of Morgantown, heading to Hacker Valley. I should arrive at the compound within the next two hours."

"Good. I need three things from you in the next twelve hours. First and foremost, get the compound ready to repel an immediate attack. You know what to do. Second, activate our insurance policy in D.C. I know it's a rush job, but the feds are putting the pieces together quicker than we had anticipated. I want him ready by tomorrow evening. Lastly, send another team to deal with Young. Terminate with extreme prejudice, and tell them to be extremely cautious. They might have competition."

"Understood. I'll start making some calls right now. How long do you think we have at the compound?"

"At least twenty-four hours, probably more like thirty-six. Is everything set for tomorrow morning?"

"Yes. They'll start digging at noon," Brown replied.

"Perfect. I'll let you go, Tommy. I need to clear out of here, just in case the FBI decides to suspend the Constitution and grab me out of my hotel room. I'll be in touch shortly. Don't hesitate to call if you run into a snag. We're almost there. Just another week or so, and the country will have a fighting chance to realize a new era of American exceptionalism."

"Well worth the sacrifices, Jackson. I'll see you up north in a few days."

"Sounds like a plan, Tommy. Make sure to get the hell clear of the compound as soon as possible. You don't want to get caught up in that mess.

"I'll be out of there by mid-morning at the latest."

"Good luck, and take a deep breath when you get off this call. I don't need you driving your car into a ditch," Greely said.

He heard Brown laugh, which was a good sign.

"I hear you. Long, deep breaths. Talk to you soon."

Greely started to collect his items and pack his bags for an immediate departure. He'd steer clear of any known associates or regular stops from this point forward. Once he got on the road, he'd call Lee Harding and give him an update. Harding would have to go into hiding with him. Owen Mills had anonymously rented a comfortable house on Lake Wallenpaupack for their absence. From the house, they were perfectly situated for quick trips to the laboratory facility and the distribution hub in Honesdale, each less than twenty miles away.

A perfect hideaway for the two of them until it was safe to emerge and make a statement in support of the New Recovery. Mills owned a significant lakeside estate a few miles south along the waterfront. Lake Wallenpaupack had turned into the epicenter of True America's secret leadership cabal. Decades from now, people might travel from all corners of the country to catch a glimpse of the house used by New Recovery founders Jackson Greely and Lee Harding. Maybe it would become a national landmark.

His most important call would be to Jason Carnes at the laboratory. Carnes had insisted that his people needed a minimum of eight days to get the bottles out of the lab. He needed them to cut that timeline in half. He needed those trucks rolling out of Honesdale as soon as possible. Everything hinged on the trucks delivering their cargo. Once delivered, it was in God's hands.

Chapter 25

12:45 AM

New Brunswick, New Jersey

Aleem Fayed opened the basement door and stepped into the kitchen, closing it softly behind him. He tossed a small digital dictation machine on the kitchen counter and started to wash his blood-soaked hands in the sink.

"It's all there," he said, without looking up from his hands.

Once the red tendrils of blood had stopped flowing across the white ceramic basin, he switched the water to cold and took a handful to splash his face. He rubbed his eyes with watery hands, before placing them on the edges of the counter to brace himself for a few seconds of rest. He stared at the soap dispenser behind the sink, just to the left of the tap. He needed more than a few seconds of repose, but his day was far from finished. He turned his head toward the dining room and saw that everyone was staring at him.

"Did you find anything on his phone?" he asked the others, breaking the silence.

He knew why they were staring at him. Screams and crying from the basement had lasted for nearly an hour, as Aleem perpetrated his finest masterpiece of physical and psychological torture. By the time Estrada had finally expired, the True America militant had been so utterly confused and physically strained that he had rambled completely unrelated pieces of information in the hopes of unlocking the key to his survival. Even Aleem felt slightly sorry for the wrecked human being fastened to the metal basement support beam. The man had endured the most twisted hour of his life, dying unceremoniously in an anonymous basement on the outskirts of a New Jersey suburb. Breaking Miguel Estrada had required little physical torture, beyond a few well-placed kicks and punches. Most of the session had been a mental seesaw attack, designed to rip the psychological rug out from under Estrada, over and over again.

It started when he was shoved into the dimly lit unfinished basement and tied to the thick metal column several feet in front of the Imam. Aleem kept him faced away from Hamid Muhammad, until the Imam's muffled screams could no longer be ignored. Estrada was free to rotate around the column, restrained by handcuffs and a long U-shaped Kryptonite bicycle lock. When he finally shifted to face the muffled screams, Aleem ripped the duct tape off the Imam's face and watched as Estrada's face registered recognition and confusion. At this point, Aleem announced that Estrada's abduction had been part of an induction ceremony to bring him into the next level of True America's inner circle and that the raid on the market had been staged as his final test of loyalty and competence.

As the Imam screamed, Estrada was told that he would be given the honor of killing the Imam with his bare hands, but he would not be released until the Al Qaeda terrorist was dead. Aleem released Estrada from the handcuffs and pushed Hamid Muhammad's chair within striking distance of the militant. It took him nearly ten minutes to pummel the life out of the Imam. Aleem had pulled the chair back several times to keep Estrada from strangling him. He wanted Estrada physically exhausted and emotionally charged for the next turn of events.

When the Imam's pulse faded to nothing, Aleem unleashed a vicious attack on Estrada, dropping him to the floor. He recuffed his hands and thanked him for doing the Prophet's work. Sending the traitorous Imam straight to hell on behalf of Al Qaeda would ensure a quick, painless death, he had assured Estrada. He explained how the Imam had double-crossed everyone. He had stolen money from True America, while at the same time giving up the location of the hidden Al Qaeda cells. Estrada knew that part of this was untrue, but any effort to explain how they had tracked the Al Qaeda cells was met with Aleem's fists. He demanded to know where they had taken the stolen virus canisters, but Estrada held out, even after one of his fingers was bent backward to the point of breaking. At this point, tears started rolling down Estrada's cheeks, which told him it was time to change back to the first story.

Aleem completely freed Estrada and tossed a water bottle down for him to drink, congratulating him on passing the final test of loyalty. He would now be taken to meet Lee Harding and Jackson Greely for the final ceremony. Estrada grabbed the water bottle and accepted Aleem's hand, rising back to his feet. He could tell that Estrada wanted desperately to believe that he had passed some bizarre hazing ritual. This was when he slipped up for the first time. He asked if they still needed him for the job in Atlanta. Benjamin Young. Aleem immediately kicked him in the groin and pulled him by his hair back to the basement support column, reattaching the U-shaped lock.

He had
almost
passed the test, Aleem stated. He'd given up mission details under uncertain circumstances, possibly jeopardizing True America's inner core. Estrada apologized profusely and took a drink of water, squeezing the rest of the water over his head. The results of the habanero-infused water were immediate. Estrada's sweat pores and eyes absorbed the habanero oil, causing his face to feel like it had caught fire. The pain in his mouth had probably been beyond comprehension for several minutes. Aleem waited for the screaming to die down before informing him that Jackson Greely had once told him something at the training compound that could save his life. Something important that only Estrada could know.

Aleem spent the next twenty minutes using a flaming aerosol can to keep Estrada talking. He gave up everything in hopes of hitting the one thing that might save his life. He had crossed the line of rational thought, which would have never allowed him to disclose some of the intimate details of his association with True America. He'd confirmed several things they had suspected, but never provided details about the bigger plot. Tommy Brown and he had masterminded the simultaneous hit against Al Qaeda, having tracked and observed the cells for over a year. Brown was the tactical arm of the True America militants.